That's No Way to Say Goodbye
by drinktea
Summary: A collection of Noel/Serah pieces that centre around the theme of goodbyes. Universes vary, genres vary and ratings vary. 2: "Goodbyes suck, and they're ten times harder at airports. Maybe twenty times harder, for you." AU.
1. your eyes & heart have left you

**A/n: **Boom, baby! I'm back! And with a whole new series. That said, I'm hoping inspiration hits and I can fill more from the prompts collection, _Across Historia_, but right now I'm unblocking myself and sort of recharging with this series. The central theme behind each of these standalone pieces is "goodbye", and the universes will change! I'm thinking in-game, post-game and entirely alternate universes, which is something that will be fun to explore.

The title of this collection comes from the Leonard Cohen song of the same name.

This specific piece pulls its starting quote from _a softer creed_. That's enough preamble, I'd say. So, sit back, relax and enjoy the beauty that is Noel/Serah!

* * *

_.  
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_"Sometimes when two people love each other... it's really unfortunate."_

_.  
_

* * *

Serah felt the warm glow of a vision closing in on her, and in a sudden flash of clarity, knew it would be her last. She would fall to the ground, lifeless, in mere moments.

"Noel," she strained to say calmly.

The sun made his hair shine gorgeously as he turned to her. The look in his eyes was happy, peaceful. As she observed him, she knew for certain that there were worse fates than this. She was lucky to have this.

"Thank you."

* * *

Noel held her lukewarm body for hours. When he wasn't staring out at the now-dark horizon, he was looking at his hands. Those hands had held the sword that Caius had stabbed himself with. That sword had gone through the heart of Etro. That heart beat in order to protect the timeline. That timeline warped, forcing a vision upon all with the Eyes of Etro. Those eyes of Etro, _Serah's eyes_, closed forever.

He had killed the last person he loved.

Unbidden, tears began to fall from his eyes. He clutched her tighter, lacing his fingers with her stiff, gloved ones.

"I'm sorry," he wept. The last words she'd spoken had been for him. He understood now, with her dead in his arms - it had been a goodbye.


	2. worth enduring a little snot for him

I am bad at airports.

It's not a common phrase, _"I am bad at airports"_. People tend to be bad at verbs: bad at singing, bad at dicing vegetables or bad at performing headstands.

But I am bad at airports.

I am unfailingly late to be bid goodbye or say it, am so nervous and flinching under the watchful eyes of security, and no matter the duration of the trip, I always cry. My tear ducts are the worst traitors, spilling saltwater at the movie theatre or during heated arguments-a humiliating tendency.

Today, he is leaving.

And that is why, today, I am staying home.

"I don't get you," Lebreau says from where she's lying languidly on my mattress, a forearm over her eyes. The sun is blindingly bright today and pierces through my curtains to cut across her face. I have elected to sit half inside my closet on the floor, avoiding this.

"I already told you, I'm-"

"Bad at airports, I know, I know," she finishes for me. Her wrist flops. "But are you sure you're not just lying horribly to yourself and avoiding him?"

My cheeks flame, which tells me - and Lebreau - that she's hit the mark. Still, I try to ward her off by playing dumb. "How do you figure?"

Lebreau's lips screw up into a defiant pout and her brow furrows. I should've known playing dumb wouldn't do the trick with her. And sure enough, it doesn't. "You must think I'm really stupid. How else would anyone - _anyone _- miss the ridiculous attraction between you two?" She pulls her arm from her face and stares me down. "Are you serious?"

I choose to make this as painless as possible and turn to her. "Even if that were true, it's easier this way. Goodbyes are hard."

"Goodbyes suck," she affirms, "and they're ten times harder at airports. Maybe twenty times harder, for you."

I make a face at her.

She continues, "I will never, in all my life, forget that snot monster from two summers back-"

"Do you have a point?" I cut her off, annoyed.

Instead of a glare or smirk as I expect, she looks across the room at me sagely. She clears her throat. "My point is, even if you suck at airports and goodbyes are hard, it's worth enduring a little snot for him."

I'm scared to ask her why, already knowing what her answer will be.

"Because you love each other," she supplies with a grin.

"Thanks for the clarification," I say to her between rounds of chewing at my lips. What should I do? My choice, once before so clear, is now muddled by the words _avoiding, enduring, attraction_-all in Lebreau's know-it-all register.

And then as I sit there more comes to me, only it's him: the sunset burning its way through his hair, the warmth of his hands on mine, his smell mixed in with sand, surf and sunscreen. There was absolute comfort and happiness in those moments.

"I'm going."

Lebreau bolts up from where she's been lounging amongst my pillows. Her smile could not be brighter... or more self-satisfied. "I knew it."

I quickly grab my license and keys, shove my feet into sandals and run out onto the driveway.

Lebreau chases me outside, waggling tubes of lipgloss and mascara as I turn over the engine. "You've gotta look good!" she yells. I grab them and toss them onto the seat beside me. "Good luck!" she wishes me, sending me off with a continuous, two-armed wave.

The drive is surprisingly short. I run over things in my mind about him: the way he patiently won Mog over with treats galore, his subtle chivalry (and yes, for me, chivalry is _not dead_), his easy confidence. I haven't fallen for only the perfect moments with him. It's _him_.

I park, nervously dab at my eyelashes and lips, thinking of what to say. Then I realize I'm sabotaging myself, so I stop. I stop slathering on too much lipgloss. I stop going over greetings. I stop thinking. I give control of my body over to a kind of autopilot. My legs direct themselves into the terminal and my eyes scan the _departures _listings and my wrist floats up into my vision, my watch telling me that his flight is ON TIME, due to depart in 20 minutes. I would have continued on autopilot had my ears not picked up a familiar tenor.

"She's coming. I know she is."

"Sir, you are forfeiting your seat by choosing to do this."

It's him. It's him! "Noel!" I call, starting off in the direction of his voice.

He must not hear me though, because there's no response. But I don't need one. Suddenly he's right there, in the shirt he wore the first day we met. I remember thinking the wings on the back of his shirt were the truest advertisement I'd ever seen. As I walk over he talks to the airline employee.

Something on my face must tip the worker off because they nod at me. Noel turns.

"Noel." I smile. No more avoidance-I make to hug him right away.

Then my foot catches, my shin connects with the luggage of some unfortunate passenger, and I'm tumbling onto the floor.

I knew my luck couldn't hold. I am so bad at airports.

"Serah," he breathes with relief, appearing in my field of vision. The skylights form a halo around his head, simultaneously blotting out the details of his face. I register some amused grumbling in the background. "I knew you'd come," he tells me, not bothering to wait for me to take his hand. He pulls me up.

I stubbornly stay too close. "I should've come sooner," I admit.

Every choice I've made today is confirmed the second he takes my hand in his. He moves in, too, even though we're already so close. He presses his mouth to the back of my hand. "You're here now," he murmurs against my skin, "and that's what counts."


End file.
